


hurts less than the quiet

by cinnamango



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Depression, Disassociation, Gen, Post 186, but not really, just a general exploration of the lonely and depression, lonely martin, martins domain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27422329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamango/pseuds/cinnamango
Summary: A day in the life of Martin's domain
Kudos: 12





	hurts less than the quiet

He is drifting, motionless. The world turns around him, moving forward while he stays. His body heavy, sinking through the floor. He is floating, unable to feel the mattress on which he rests. He curls tighter, although no amount of pressure will prove he has a form. 

Time has stopped. Decades have passed, or maybe not. Moments cling together like cotton. He can see cities rising and falling from his place in this wasteland.

At some point, he gets up. He must, although he doesn’t remember why. The rain has stopped just long enough for the pavement to give way to vapor, rising indistinguishably into the grey. Normally, he loves this weather. These are the days that open doors for poets and lattes. Today, however, the clouds are stifling, the ground leeches color from the trees. Today, the world is empty. 

He slips between the shops unnoticed, still not sure why he left his home in the first place. There’s a drugstore on a corner. He finds himself buying a cardboard box of tea, the buzzing fluorescent lights providing a backdrop to his silence. 

He is home again. The journey back is already forgotten. He is on the stairs. He is floating through walls. He is sinking into bed. The tea sits abandoned in a coat pocket, shedding dust.

He sleeps. He wakes. He eats. Hunger no longer bothers him. He boils water and doesn’t make anything. 

There is no window between him and the world, no clear pane of glass he is simply on the wrong side of. He has instead dug his body out, created a hollow place inside to sit and wait, expecting the collapse of the exterior. He is prepared to stay forever. 

Some days the world spins faster. It drags him along, making him recognize the things he should want to feel. The last dregs of emotion inside him turn to a diluted fear, paralyzing him as he remembers all the things he can’t bring himself to care about anymore. 

And after all, why should he? A lifetime of trying, of caring, and convincing himself there are still things he craves. Years of living to comfort only to be met with rejection, the eons of guilt that came after. The struggle of a love that doesn’t really exist. Chasing an image of someone he will never truly be. Doesn’t he deserve a break? Shouldn’t he be allowed to admit he doesn’t want this, anything, anymore? Even if some version of himself once did, it all fades eventually. Why should he deny himself the act of watching? He’s already done the hanging on, the following out. No one could say he didn’t give it a chance, so what could be so wrong about simply letting go now? The world, the people he knew, the ties have already frayed away to nothing. It’s so easy to disappear along with them. 

Simply taking a breath, sinking a bit deeper into the grey, enjoying the fall.

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't really have a point and I'm not a fic writer, I just wanted to poke at some of my bruises lol.


End file.
